


You and I

by HumanError



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional John, Funerals, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mentions of Harry and Clara, Mother-Son Relationship, Poor John, Poor Sherlock, Teenlock, They're 17, homophobic father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 11:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2849354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanError/pseuds/HumanError
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. It's them. Always just them. It had been months since they had been together. Stolen kisses. Subtle glances. Trying to hide their relationship from John's abusive, homophobic father. It was never that easy though, was it? There was always going to be something pulling them apart, separating them, tearing their world apart. Why did it have to happen so soon?</p>
            </blockquote>





	You and I

"I need to tell them." John breathed heavily against Sherlock's lips as he pressed him up against the thick branch of a tree that was in the forest behind his house.

They had been together for five months now. Five months of secret kisses and subtle glances, of always sneaking Sherlock into the house late at night when he'd been having trouble at home. It really had only started off as that, just two teenagers discovering one another. However, over the course of those few months, things began to grow and feelings were developed. Now, the two were practically inseparable: trapped in their own bubble, secluded from the outside world.

Sherlock looped his fingers with John's and slowly dragged him down so he was perching on Sherlock's lap with his back tucked closely to Sherlock's chest. They sat with one another in silence for precisely two minutes before Sherlock spoke up.

"Are you sure?" The sympathy was obvious in his voice- it was clear that telling John's parents about their relationship was going to turn out horribly. Nuzzling his face closer to John's neck, Sherlock planted a gentle kiss to his collarbone reassuringly.

"No." A choked sob escaped John's mouth as the word came out in a scared whisper. Manoeuvring round, Sherlock twisted John so that he was facing him, legs on either side of his hips, foreheads resting against one another.

"Hey, it's alright, John." Sherlock placed a kiss to the corner of John's mouth. "We don't have to tell them." Another cry rippled through John's body as Sherlock spoke softly to him, knowing that what he said was untrue. He needed to tell them. It wasn't an option. He couldn't continue hiding the one person who he cared for most in this world from the two people who were meant to support him through everything. It just wasn't right.

"I need to, Sherlock. I can't. I can't hide you from them any longer. You are the most amazing, beautiful, wonderful thing that has happened to me and I want them to see that too." John leaned in closer and pressed his lips to Sherlock's, forgetting all of his worries just for the briefest of moments. Just then, it was the two of them. Sherlock and John. Nobody and nothing else mattered for those fraction of a few seconds.

Sherlock pulled away breathlessly and spoke out once again. "You know your Dad won't approve of you being a with a boy and-" He was cut abruptly short when John silenced him with another kiss, preventing him from speaking any further.

"I don't give a fuck what that homophobic, abusive shit says. I'll fucking punch his living daylights out if he-"

"John, you need to be rational about this. We can wait one more year. We will both be over eighteen, out of school - we can get our own place and then we can tell him. I don't want you to get hurt if you tell him too soon." Swiftly, Sherlock took John's shaky hands in his own and rubbed soothing circles into the palm.

John's whole body had tensed, quivers darting along his limbs. One year was definitely not an option. John had been living in fear of this man for his whole life. He didn't show any regard for his entire family: all they were to him were his punch bags. Not only that, he had extremely strong beliefs and what he said was right. There was no arguing with that.

"Sherlock, I can't. I'm sorry, I just..." Before he could continue, John exhaled a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, as well as letting the tears leak freely down his cheek. They were a river, flowing aggressively down a bank with hundreds of twists and turns, a mixture of emotions finally finding their own way out after so long of being trapped inside. It was ridiculous really, constantly being terrified of someone because of how they would react to two people who happened to fall in love.

John's mother had always taught him that he shouldn't care what anyone else thinks, as long as you do what you've got to do. How could he ignore him though when it was clear that his father would despise his one source of happiness?

Things had changed since those times, however. He and his mother always tried to please their father, anything to avoid getting any more torrents of abuse than was necessary. When John's sister, Harry, came out to their father eight years ago, John had never been so terrified in his life. His mother had been accepting, saying that it didn't matter who she fell in love with. Just as long as she found happiness, that was all that mattered to her. Their dad on the other hand...

Harry ended up in the hospital. The police had been informed that Harry was victim to a mugging and the officers didn't suspect anything further. It made John and his mother sick to their stomachs but they just couldn't say anything. His sister was old enough to leave home and the only time John was allowed to see her was when his father was on business trips. Even then, his father detested the idea of his son going near her. He didn't want him to be 'influenced by her vulgar choices.'

It was that day that John decided he wanted his father to die. It was that day that he started to be on the receiving end of his aggressive outbursts and violent tendencies.

John was sobbing loudly, interrupting the silence of the surrounding forest. Sherlock held him close, embracing him in a tight hug and gently carding his fingers through John's soft blonde hair.

"Oh, John." Sherlock murmured, knowing that anything he said wouldn't help the situation in the slightest. He had never met John's father- the nights that Sherlock stayed round, he made sure that John's father was out getting drunk, never giving him that chance of possibly discovering the two's relationship. "Shh, we can get through this. We'll sort it out."

John nodded but remained close to Sherlock, inhaling his scent, absorbing the aroma that was purely Sherlock. Warmth, love, cigarette smoke.

Reassurance.

Not a single word was uttered between the two of them for what seemed like hours but was, in reality, only a couple of minutes.

"Tonight." John whispered against Sherlock's ear, his warm breath ghosting over his skin.

"Tonight." Sherlock repeated. They were going to be in this together, no matter what happened.

John and Sherlock didn't return back to the house for another five hours. Darkness had enveloped the night sky, stars dancing across the expanse of black ink. As they reached the front door, John cupped Sherlock's hand, their fingers entwining, and looked up towards the sky.

"I'm scared, Sherlock." Sherlock squeezed John's hand and turned to face him, tilting John's chin up so they were looking directly into each other's eyes.

"If anything goes wrong... we can just go away. One of Mycroft's assistants is driving around and we can go with him, back to my house. I'll just need to phone him. Your mum can come as well." John stood on his tiptoes and placed his arms around Sherlock's neck.

"I love you... so much, Sherlock." A smirk painted itself on Sherlock's mouth as he pecked John's cheek.

"And I love you."

They stepped through the front door and into the hallway, their hands still tangled together, trapped between their bodies. The lights were off except for the dim orange glow at the top of the landing, enhancing the boys' reflections in the large window that overlooked the staircase.

"Mum?" John mumbled into the darkness, just loud enough for anyone to hear if they were on the ground floor. When there wasn't an immediate reply, panic started to set in and John clutched onto Sherlock's hand tighter. "Mum!"

"In here, darling." An audible sigh of relief tumbled from John's lungs as he heard his mother's quiet voice. The grip on Sherlock's hand loosened and John guided him through into the kitchen.

As the two teenagers entered the room, the smell of cigarette smoke and strong coffee attacked their nostrils. Mrs Watson was sitting at the table, cigarette in hand and in her dressing gown. Her mousy brown hair looked dishevelled and it was pulled into a loose ponytail that reached just below her shoulders. A single flavourless smelling candle sat a top the table, illuminating her pale face. John switched the lights on and smiled at his mother.

"Is Dad home?" John asked as he released Sherlock's hand, nodding at him slightly as he did so. His mum replied immediately, a small smile plastered on her face.

"No. Thank fuck for that. He's out drinking all night for some celebration with his dickhead friends. We should at least get two days of peace and quiet." An emotionless chuckle escaped her mouth before she pressed her hand to her face, a whimper escaping her. "I fucking hate him, John."

Peering at Sherlock, John pulled his mouth into a straight line and kneeled on the floor beside his Mum. However, before John could say anything, Mrs Watson stood up, disregarded her son briefly and made her way over to Sherlock, embracing him in an awkward hug.

"Oh, Sherlock. How lovely to see you." She planted a kiss on his cheek and then faced John again, whispering, "why is he here this late?"

Glancing over at John, Sherlock noticed the fear consume his eyes and his fists start to clench. He looked to Sherlock for comfort but he couldn't do or say anything in that moment in time. 'It's okay.' Sherlock mouthed and nodded again. John could do this. He had to do this.

"John?" Mrs Watson encouraged, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

It was now or never.

"Um... I... oh fuck." John's hand started to tremble and he had to support himself on the table so as not to lose his balance.

"Hey, honey. Is everything alright?"

"Mum...I...fuck, this is hard. Sher-..." Sherlock remained in the corner of the room, not wanting to interrupt. This was John's decision and Sherlock would let him speak in his own time.

"You can tell me anything, John. You know you can. Father doesn't have to know."

John peered over at his boyfriend whose head was bowed down ever so slightly.

"I. Mum. Sherlock and I... we...mmm... we're..." He knew what he had to say, the words just wouldn't come out!

"You're a couple?" She asked kindly, not a single hint of disappointment in her voice.

"What?" Shock resided in John's voice as the word tumbled from his mouth. His eyes locked with Sherlock's who had started to back out of the doorway to give John and his mum some privacy.

"Sherlock and you. You're dating one another." Mrs Watson gave her son a friendly smile as she pulled him into a hug, stroking his hair as they let the news sink in.

"H-how did you know?" Inhaling, John pulled away and looked his mother in the eyes. The blue pools were glistening with water, which was reflected in John's own eyes as well. Not out of fear or sadness, purely for the reason that his mother accepted him.

"John, darling. A mum knows these types of things. The way you two look at each other, it really is hard to miss." A small chuckle came from his Mum as she said this, causing John to grin ever so slightly aswell. Sherlock made his way upstairs, into John's bedroom so that he could leave him and his Mum alone for a while, not wanting to ruin such an important moment for John. Relief flooded through Sherlock's system- John's mum was accepting and that was what mattered. However, it was inevitable that John was going to have to tell his Dad soon. An uneasy sense of dread mingled in with Sherlock's relief as he finally reached the bedroom.

Back downstairs in the kitchen, John's happiness was beginning to wash away. Telling his mum had gone smoothly but he still had to inform his dad. "Why didn't you tell me you knew?" He asked timidly, not wanting to ruin the moment by causing an argument. His mother let out a sigh.

"John, it was your decision if and when you were going to tell me about you and Sherlock. I wasn't going to say anything until you felt comfortable enough to tell me."

"You don't mind that he's... a boy?" John mentally slapped himself. Of course she didn't mind! She was perfectly okay with Harry being with Clara. What difference would it make if John was with Sherlock?

"Why would you say that? I'm perfectly okay if my baby boy is happy with who he is dating. And whether that's with a girl or a boy, I don't give a shit. Sherlock is a lovely lad and I'm so proud of you." For a few seconds, the worried feeling about telling his Dad had vanished and for the first time in a long while, John didn't feel afraid. He felt he could cope at whatever was thrown at him. It didn't matter what his Dad thought- his Mum was supportive and he had fallen in love with Sherlock. John didn't need his father to tell him he was wrong because he wasn't. He was happy. The sting of tears pulled John from his thoughts and he gave an impish smile to his mother. Before he could say anything more though, his Mum spoke up. "Now, you've got a handsome man sitting upstairs in your bedroom and your Dad is not home. What are you still doing down here?" She asked, mischief in her voice.

John's smile turned into an all-out grin and laughter bubbled from his mouth. Was this really happening? Making his way to the bottom of the stairs, John was about to join Sherlock but before he could step foot on the first step, his mother called out to him. "John? One more thing." He turned to face his mother, noticing that she had pulled out a chair from underneath the kitchen table and placed it next to the cupboards. She stepped onto the chair and reached up, rummaging on the highest shelf, in the teacups that were more for show than for use. Confusion swept over John. What was she doing?

Climbing down from the chair, she chucked a small plastic packet over to John who caught it with ease.

"Really, Mum?" Blushing, John's cheeks turned a violent shade of red and he squeezed his eyes shut. Well, that was awkward. He turned the packet round in his hand, noting the flavour. Strawberry. Again... how bloody embarrassing.

"You can only be too safe, John. Now go before Sherlock leaves. Your father's not home at the minute so you should do  _this_ sooner, rather than later."

"Mum, you really shouldn't be encouraging your seventeen year old to have sex."

"No, I shouldn't." She agreed. John's brows furrowed as she spoke. Why was she saying this then? "But, I can only imagine what your father's going to say. So, just hurry the hell up before he comes home. I just want what's best for you, John."

John sprang forward but stopped on the stairs again. "Mum...I want to get away from him."

Mrs Watson's eyes lingered on the floor for a minute before she finally said, "I know. I do too." Sympathy swam in her ocean blue eyes as she finally followed on by saying, 'Now go and enjoy yourself and I'll pretend like I don't hear anything. I love you."

John all but sprinted up the stairs, shouting down a quick, "love you too!"

As he reached the top of the stairs, John overlooked the window that looked down onto the garden. Even though it was inevitable that his Dad would find out in two days, they would have two days together before all hell broke loose.

Knocking on the door as a quick warning, John timidly crept inside of his bedroom and he was met with the biggest grin on Sherlock's face that he had seen in a while. The younger teenager was hunched over the edge of the bed, elbows on knees and tapping his foot on the carpet. Immediately, John bounded over, pinning Sherlock down by the shoulders and straddling him over the hips. Sherlock tilted his head up, latching his lips onto John's as they met each other in a passionate kiss.

"I take it," Sherlock said between breaths, "that your mother is perfectly fine with this?" His hands went up to cup John's jaw, his thumb brushing over the faint stubble that resided there.

Another massive grin spread across John's lips as he stared at the man beneath him, consumed by happiness and joy.

"I love you, you know that?" John asked. However, the smile which had previously plastered John's face disappeared and one lonely tear trickled down his cheek. Sherlock peered up at him, his ever changing eyes taking in the sight in front of him as another tear fell.

"Hey... John, look at me." John shook his head, avoiding eye contact as a sob escaped his lips. Immediately Sherlock was sitting up, manoeuvring John so he was sitting beside him on the bed and embracing him in a tight hug. John sunk forward, burying his head into the warm crook of Sherlock's neck, letting the tears fall freely now.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"No, John. Listen to me. You have nothing to apologise for."

"I hate this." Sherlock tightened his hold on John's smaller body. "Hiding. Having to do things in secret so that fucking dickhead doesn't find out. Fuck. I'm so pathetic."

"Don't say that.  _Never_ say that again, John. Just because your father isn't accepting does not mean that you should not be accepting of yourself. You are extraordinary and you should never have to apologise for that. I've said it before and I will say it again, you can tell your father if and when you want to. If he doesn't approve, well, that just proves what a useless, coward of a man he is. I know this is  _so_ hard for you and I can only wish that your father realises his fault one day. You, your mother, Harry, Clara, you all deserve so much better than him. There's just one more thing that I want you to know. No matter what happens, I am always going to be here for you. Nothing will ever change that, my love. Please understand that."

Sherlock cradled John's face in his large hands again as he bowed his head forward, capturing John's lips in a passionate kiss, expressing all of his words through that one simple motion. John leaned into the kiss, allowing Sherlock to take dominance as his tongue licked across the pink expanse of John's lower lip.

In one smooth movement Sherlock was laying on his back, John towering over him, both of their lips red and swollen from the kiss.

"I'm ready." John stuttered, his voice filled with need. Sherlock's eyes widened as he looked up at John, opening his lips in a timid 'o' shape.

"Are you certain?"

"Only if you're willing." John stroked his hair through the dark, errant curls of his boyfriend's head, massaging his fingers through the soft strands.

Nodding his head ever so slightly, Sherlock agreed. "Of course."

The seconds ticked by, neither Sherlock or John moving an inch. It was John who made the first move.

Carefully, John removed his cream coloured jumper over his forehead and flung it backwards without looking to see where it landed. This was it. The moment the two of them had been waiting for. It was just them in that moment, worries forgotten, panic abandoned.

An audible gasp escaped Sherlock's mouth as he was welcomed by the sight of John's chest, a light scattering of pale hair dusting over the toned, muscled body. John smirked as he slowly began fingering the buttons of Sherlock's plum coloured shirt, leaving the taller boy breathing heavily as his fingers twitched nervously on the mattress.

"So gorgeous..." John mumbled as he pressed his lips to the pale expanse of Sherlock's skin, whispering sweet compliments as he inhaled the smell of him.

Sherlock lifted his left hand so that it was no longer resting on the soft black duvet atop of John's bed, moving it swiftly so that his fingers looped with John's. He stroked his thumb along John's palm, gently lifting their intertwined hands so that he could touch delicate kisses to each knuckle.

"We're actually do this." Sherlock whispered in awe, watching as John kicked off his socks and shoes and shimmied out of his jeans, leaving him in nothing but his vibrant red underwear. The younger teen gulped, feeling the prominent bulge that was pressing into his thigh which caused his own erection to strain against the fabric of his own underwear.

"You okay?" John asked timidly, his voice full of admiration as spoke to Sherlock.

"Mhm." Sherlock's lips pulled together tightly as he suppressed the urge to let out a whimper.

"If you want me to stop..." John let out a shaky breath. "If you want me to stop all you need to do is tell me. Just say it and I will stop. I promise."

"I trust you, John." Their lips met again in another chaste kiss, just a quick touch of skin to reassure one another.  _I_ _wouldn't_ _change_ _this_ _moment_ _for the_ _world_ _._ _I_ _can't_ _even_ _begin_ _to_ _fathom_ _what_ _I_ _would_ _do_ _without_ _you_ _._ _You_ _are_ _my_ _everything_ _._ _Please_ _never_ _leave_ _me_ _._

Sliding his body downwards, John positioned his knee between Sherlock's thighs and touched his hands to Sherlock's hips, thumbs dipping beneath the waistline of his trousers. His breath ghosted over the thick hair trailing down from Sherlock's naval, breathing hot and heavy, making Sherlock's skin burn with need. A moment later, Sherlock's trousers were at his ankles and John was ripping his shoes off, shortly followed by his socks which were tossed over his shoulders and landing in the heap that was the rest of their clothes.

John bowed his head forward, nuzzling his face into the bulge in Sherlock's underwear and causing a surprised gasp from Sherlock's throat. "Yes, John. Oh God."

"I need you, Sherlock." Drawled John, tracing his fingers over the muscles of Sherlock's stomach as he slowly rolled his hips against the other boy. "I need you so badly."

"Take me."

Immediately John's fingers were grappling at the elastic of Sherlock's underwear, pulling them down and exposing Sherlock's red and swollen cock, the tip glistening with precome. He did the same to himself until they were both naked, bodies pressing together. John tangled his fingers into Sherlock's hair, pulling slightly and causing the most gorgeous sounds to escape his boyfriend's mouth.

As if on cue, the two of them both started moving, rubbing their bodies together in an attempt to seek friction.  _Yes. I love you. I love you more than I ever thought was imaginable._

Lifting his hands, Sherlock gripped one hand to John's shoulder blade, his nails digging in and leaving red crescent shapes in the tanned skin. His other hand drifted lower until it was gripping John's arse as they moved together, their erections sliding together as they did so. John let out a low moan, his grip on Sherlock's hair tightening ever so slightly.

"John." The word came out in one short, sharp gasp as they touched one another again, the feeling causing Sherlock to shiver.

"I know." John breathed heavily, his skin sticky with sweat and his blonde hair plastered to his forehead. Soon after John was leaning over Sherlock and across the bed, reaching for something that Sherlock couldn't see. When he came back, Sherlock could see the nervous look in his eyes as he peered at the little plastic packet in his hand.

"John?" Sherlock asked, no hint of the breathlessness that was there before. Instead, his voice was laced with concern. He took John's hand in his own, pulling him down so they were laying chest to chest. "If you don't want to, I don't mind. We can leave it until another time if you would prefer."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm just...overwhelmed." He let out a small chuckle which soon turned into a hearty laugh and then Sherlock was giggling too, giggling so hard that he was struggling to breathe.

"Oh my God," John gasped, hand pressed to his stomach. "We're not supposed to laugh in these situations!" Sherlock's hand came up to press at his mouth to suppress a laugh but it was a futile attempt.

"Since when have we done anything like we're supposed to?" He asked, a mischievous smile toying on his lips.

"That is a valid point." John returned the smile and rested his forehead against Sherlock's, breathing warm breath onto his face. A blush rose up Sherlock's cheeks as John looked him in the eyes, a thousand emotions conveyed through just one look. Sherlock tilted his chin upwards and sought John's lips with his own, pressing his tongue into the wetness of John's mouth. "I love you, Sherlock."

"You and I, John. Forever."

"Always."  _Until the day I die. You're my sun, my Earth, my universe. You make me happy. So, so happy. I need you. I will always need you._

Sherlock uncurled John's fingers, revealing the condom that was held tightly in it and lifted the packet to his mouth, tearing at it with his teeth. John swallowed hard, looking at Sherlock as if he wanted to devour him. "I-um-"

Before John could speak any further, Sherlock had taken John's length in his hand and was slowly stroking at it, smearing the precome at the tip with the top of his thumb. "Jesus Christ, Sherlock." He continued this for a couple more minutes, teasing, leaving John in a shivering mess. "Seriously, Sherlock..." he took a sharp intake of breath, "...I need you."

Sherlock pushed the condom onto John's cock, allowing him a few minutes to recover before finally spreading his legs wide, giving John a full view of his entrance. Taking John's hand in his own, he guided it forward until one of John's fingers was pressing against his tender skin.

"Go ahead." Sherlock said, although his voice was shaky. Gently, John pushed his first finger into him and paused, giving time for Sherlock to adjust to the feeling. Glancing underneath him, he could see Sherlock's pupils dilated, hear his breathing coming in ragged breaths, see the sweat slowly dripping down his neck, look at the rise and fall of his chest. Hear their hearts beating together.

"You alright, darling?" The shorter boy asked. Sherlock nodded as John pushed another finger in, opening him up, preparing him. A moan escaped Sherlock's lips as John's finger found his prostrate and his whole body rippled, the feeling absolutely amazing. They spent a couple of minutes like that, John stretching Sherlock open, breath catching at the beautiful sight in front of him.

"I think we're ready."

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John's waist, his heels digging in to the muscles of his back as John lined himself up with Sherlock. Their hands managed to find each other's again, fingers intertwining, locking onto each other.  _Together. It's always us. You're so extraordinary. How am I so lucky?_

It took only a couple of seconds but then John was in Sherlock and it was actually happening. They both inhaled together, a sudden sense of becoming overwhelmed. They were silent for what seemed like an infinity but perhaps was merely a few seconds before Sherlock whispered timidly. "This is really happening."

John replied by running his palm along Sherlock's side, tickling the outline of each of his ribs and leaning down, pecking kisses along Sherlock's chest. Just as he was about to move, he took another look at his lover and noticed that he was...crying?

"Hey, Sherlock? Am I hurting you?" Sherlock shook his head, eyes snapping together to try and stem the flow of tears. "What's wrong?"

"How did I manage to be with someone as incredible as you?" His voice caught on the last word as he became flooded with emotion.  _We were meant to be together. A story created by the stars. You and I._

The amount of passion that filled the room at that moment was astounding. They needed this. They needed this so much. Just them together, forgetting everything.  _You and I._

John began to thrust slowly, creating a steady rhythm that matched the speed of their laboured breaths. Sherlock's hips stuttered upwards which elicited a deep, guttural moan from John. His hips snapped forward again, causing the boy to gasp in pleasure as he managed to hit his prostrate.

"John..."

"Fuck, Sherlock."

Clamping his hand over his mouth, Sherlock let out a deep groan, whipping his head back against the pillow and exposing his neck. In an instant, John's mouth was there, licking and sucking on Sherlock's pulse point, creating a beautiful design of reds and blues and purples. He licked a trail of saliva along Sherlock's neck, across his jaw and finally reaching his mouth, all the while his thrusts becoming increasingly harder and harder.

"Yes, John. Mmph." John angled his hips, pushing deeper and deeper, wanting more and more. He needed more. He needed to give Sherlock as much pleasure as possible.  _You and I._

"Ugh. Sherlock. I think I'm going-"

"Yes, John. Right there." John felt the warmth pool in his lower abdomen and then he was coming, pulsing inside of Sherlock as the younger teen gasped and shuddered.

As he pulled out of Sherlock, John noticed that he was in fact still very hard, his cock throbbing and wet with precome. In an instant, John had bobbed his head down, nestling his face into Sherlock's thick pubic hair and began to suck, swirling his tongue around the tip of his cock. Sherlock came with a shout, his hands bunching into fists in the duvet.

Once they had finished, John fell on top of Sherlock, their skin sticky with sweat and held his face in his hands, just looking, not saying anything. Their breathing was heavy and their hearts were pumping erratically and the room smelt heavily of sweat and sex.

"I love you." John mouthed, his lips merely millimetres away from Sherlock's own. His nose brushed against Sherlock's and the younger boy smiled, his mouth twitching into a sleepy smile and his eyes drooping with tiredness.

"And I, you."

They were just beginning to fall asleep, still in one another's arms when they were startled awake by a thumping on the bedroom door.

"John! Get your fucking arse out here right now!" It was John's father.

"Shit." John bounded up quickly, accidentally kneeing Sherlock in the private area as he did so, and practically leapt at the clothes that were bundled in a heap on the floor, scrambling to put them on. He had only managed to pull his jeans on when his father came smashing through the door, his face red hot with fury. The man paused upon entry, taking in the sight of the naked form on the bed and his son on the floor, shirtless.

Mrs Watson was in the doorway aswell, her eyes wide open with a mixture of fright and nerves. She looked to John and then to Sherlock who had scrambled under the covers by that point, and grimaced. This was not good.

"James-" She began but Mr Watson cut her off, slapping his palm against the wall of John's bedroom.

"Shut up!" What  _the fuck_ is going on here, John?" He glared at John who had shifted backwards now, jumper forgotten, and was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hand resting on top of Sherlock's foot that was under the duvet. He inhaled, preparing himself for the up and coming conversation.

"I do believe that that is none of your business."

"I did not raise my  _son_ to be like  _this._ " He snarled, gesturing his hand between John and Sherlock. He started making his way over to John, the small amount of calmness that had been there moments before completely disregarded. Mr Watson was absolutely pissed.

It all happened too quickly. One moment he was shouting out homophobic slurs, the next he had enclosed his fingers around John's upper arm and was dragging him off the bed and onto the floor. Then he was kicking him. One after the other, over and over again.

John cursed as the sharp steel-toed boot collided with his rib cage, gasping as he heard the crack of one of the bones breaking. He could smell the alcohol permeating the air, the stench lingering in his nostrils for far too long.  _Please let this be over soon._

"I knew we shouldn't have let you near Harry. She has corrupted you. You are fucking vulgar!"

"Leave him alone!" Mrs Watson yelled, darting over to the two men's sides in an instant, trying her best to pull the older man away from her son but with no luck. James kept kicking, determined not to stop.

"You're a fucking coward." Sherlock spat, eyes glaring at John's father, filled with absolute disgust. "You are the most fucking disgusting thing that I have ever witnessed. That is your  _son."_

That grabbed Mr Watson's attention. He stopped the physical attack and turned to Sherlock, allowing John enough time to dart upwards and away from his father.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are-"

"James, leave them. We can talk this out later! You just need to understand-"

"I understand perfectly well. This fag has been fucking my son."

"Fucking your son, yes. Being a fag, no." Sherlock glared, his eyes never leaving those of Mr Watson. The latter clenched his fists, the knuckles turning a ghastly white as his face turned an even deeper shade of red.

"You absolute-"

"Dad!" John interrupted before his father could start the verbal abuse on Sherlock. The teen on the bed turned his head as he noticed the harsh, ragged breathing of his partner. John was bent over slightly, his left hand pressing to his damaged ribs in an attempt to subdue the pain. Sherlock could clearly see that it wasn't working. "Dad... just... leave him."

Mr Watson was now looking at his son again, his eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. "Don't you  _dare_ tell  _me_ what to do you faggot. I never raised a son to be like-"

"To be like what, exactly?" John grimaced in pain again but kept his eyes levelled at his dad. "I'm not-" His voice caught on the words he was trying to say, his emotions getting the better of him. "I'm not doing anything wrong."

"You're doing something disgusting."

"Shut up, James. Just- don't speak to my son like that." Mrs Watson had placed her hand on John's shoulder, slowly placing herself in front of him. To protect him. Her husband only laughed.

"He is  _my_ son aswell-"

"No he's not." In the time it had taken for Mrs Watson to stand in front of her son, Sherlock had managed to pull on his trousers and one of John's jumpers that was residing on the chair closest to him. He was edging closer to Mr Watson, standing tall. "He has  _never_ been your son and he   _never_ will be."

It happened quickly. Sherlock felt the pain before he realised what had happened. Blood was gushing from his nose and he was on the floor, momentarily unaware due to the force of the blow that had knocked him down.

"James! Leave him- no don't! James!" Mrs Watson screams tore through John's bedroom as she clawed at her husband, piercing her nails into his biceps to draw him away from John. To stop attacking him. And he was attacking- savagely smashing his fist over and over again into John's cranium. Sherlock didn't have time to even think about his own injury before he was by John's side, trying his best to yank his father away from him.

                                                         ***

The pain was excruciating. Absolutely fucking excruciating. There wasn't enough time for John to react before he felt the knuckles cracking into his temple, his jaw, his cheek. Punch after punch after punch.

                                                        ***

Mr Watson was unrelenting, unwilling to break his hold on his son for even a second. The alcohol in his body rendered his ability to think rationally and Sherlock thought, even if he wasn't drunk, this man wouldn't stop. Not even if he realised how strong he was and what damage he was doing to his only son.

"You-"   _Punch_ _. "_ Are-"  _Smash_ _._ "Dead-"  _Crack_ _. "_ To me, John. For so fucking long you've been-"  _Oh_ _my_ _God_ _,_ _please_ _God_ _._ _Don't_ _kill_ _me_ _,_ _Dad_ _._ _It_ _hurts_ _._ _It's_ _hurting_ _._ _Please_ _stop_ _. "-_ a disgrace to this family."

Sherlock pulled away, panting. All four of them were at the bottom of the staircase, a pool of blood forming around their feet. The younger teen dropped the photo frame that he had been clinging onto, one corner now tainted with the blood of Mr Watson. He looked at the site before him, stunned in momentary shock before he spun around and faced Mrs Watson whose face was marred with quickly forming bruises. Her mouth hung open and mascara had leaked down her face. Sherlock placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to look at him.

His voice came out shaky and small. "Mrs Watson, I need you to phone for an ambulance and the police." His hands were quivering, shaking so much that he had no control. "Now! Please." His voice hitched with his panic. "Go into the kitchen and phone them. You need to do it now. Don't look at your son or your husband. Go."

Mrs Watson obeyed without question. She stumbled through into the other room and was on the phone immediately. The numbers were dialled within seconds but Sherlock zoned out on what was being said- he needed John.

Sherlock wiped a hand under his nose and it came back with blood. He was injured but that was unimportant. John was the only person that mattered.

His body was sprawled out on the floor, right next to the front door. His right leg was higher than the rest of his body-it was elevated by the final steps on the staircase. The left leg was awkwardly twisted, his kneecap being back to front. Sherlock's eyes scanned to higher up his body. The bruises on his ribcage were a menacing black, contrasting remarkably with the pale pigmentation of his skin.

"John..." Sherlock's knees had buckled in an instant and he was on the floor, right beside John's body. The sight of him made his stomach repel and he was coughing, vomiting beside the body of John's unconscious father. "No, John- you can't. No."

Sherlock's hand came to grip the back of John's head as he applied pressure to the gaping wound that was spluttering blood into the carpet. The corner of the plug socket that had been the cause of this injury as John had fallen was decorated with the same blood, the terrifying red that _just shouldn't be there._ _  
_

"John, darling, you need to wake up. _Please_ _."_ The impenetrable silence that followed Sherlock's plea was agonising.  _No_ _,_ _John_ _. You had better wake up_ _. Wake the fuck up_ _. I need you_ _. Don't fucking leave me_ _._

Sirens followed shortly after.

The funeral was held on the following Sunday in their local church. His coffin was made of a beautiful oak and on top of it was a simple golden plaque with his name engraved into it. Nothing over the top or fancy- he wouldn't have liked that. Not at all.

It was well attended. Mrs Watson was there, wearing a straight cut dress and jacket. Harry attended, arm in arm with Clara who were both wearing elegant black outfits.

They didn't mask their sadness at all. No one did.

Sherlock spoke to him, his John, in a room full of nameless faces. They didn't matter. None of it mattered anymore. John was no longer in their world. Why would anything matter?

Snivels and sobs escaped mouths as Sherlock spoke his eulogy. Mrs Watson requested he speak for John.

He couldn't deny, of course.

The burial was a nice affair- as nice as a funeral could be, Sherlock thought. After all, it's never nice placing the body of a loved one in the ground for all of eternity for it to decay inside a box.  _At_ _least_ _he's_ _wearing_ _his_ _favourite_ _jumper_ _,_ _not_ _that_ _it_ _matters_ _anymore_ _._

Sherlock placed a red rose on the coffin once it was lowered onto the ground. Cliché. I don't care. That elicited more sobs from the mourning relatives.  _They_ _must_ _have_ _known_ _about_ _us_ _,_ _somehow_ _._ _I_ _really_ _don't_ _care_ _anymore_ _,_ _though_ _._

John Hamish Watson was seventeen years old. Excessive brain damage. Major internal bleeding.

John Hamish Watson was seventeen years when he was the victim to a brutal murder in his own home, by the man who helped bring him into the world.

Emma Louise Watson was thirty eight years old when she lost her only son, her beautiful, loving, extraordinary son.

Harriet Poppy Watson was twenty one years old when she lost her baby brother.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes was seventeen years old when he realised how cruel the world could be.

He was only seventeen years old when he realised that caring was not an advantage. It was something that would remain by his side for the rest of his young life.

 _And_ _now_   _it's_ _just_ _me_ _,_ _John._   _Just_ _me_ _._  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first publishing on AO3- I hope it's not too bad! I'll be posting fics on here as well as on Wattpad (my username over there is Human-Error). Please leave some feedback and tell me what you think! Thankyou very much.


End file.
